


Sherlock's creeping

by johnsperkynipples



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Fingering, Hannibal moment, He's also kinda sweet, John is cute, John laughing, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Making Love, Pet Names, Sex, Sherlock's in love, Sherlock's kinda creepy, aw, bottom!John, giggles, much porn, some feelings, top!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:52:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1495564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnsperkynipples/pseuds/johnsperkynipples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was gonna do the sex but I chickened out</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock's complicated eyes roamed over the man before him. Absolutely delicious.

If only John would wake up to turn his face and blush in shame. 

The detective, currently, knelt over the blonde in his most alert state. Just having woken up and all. Slowly, a devious thought, and rather naughty, crawled through Sherlock's questionable mind. 

My, oh my. 

"John," the man whispered sweetly and soft, dipping his head low to tickle the shell of the doctor's ear with the tip of his nose. "Are you going to wake up, my love?" 

With nothing in return, Sherlock took the time to position himself, laying on his side and cuddling up close to the doctor's back, not limiting himself to kisses along the nape of John's neck. His hands also roamed - curling long fingers over the fabric of John's jumper hiding his soft waist. When they were slapped away, Sherlock raised a brow, wondering if he had woken his love. He was relieved immediately by the round of soft snores that followed the mishap and a smirk planted itself right on his knowing face.

Touching his soft lips to the fine hairs where the line met John's neck, Sherlock murmured sweet nothings as he went. John was ever so sweet when he kissed him consciously. But there was something about having John in his sleep that just... made him crave it. Something about the way John was far too relaxed to tense and pull away from him. Perhaps it was the way he could do anything he wanted and the man couldn't complain. Was he just so utterly possessive to the point that John would find him unappealing? 

Certainly not, he hoped. 

Motivated by the rising and falling motions of John's chest, Sherlock resumed peppering the sleepy man's skin, pulling the top of John's jumper down low to suck at the defined collarbone. A soft sigh escaped his love's thin lips at the action and he froze.

"Mmh, Sher'lck..."

"You really know how to wring the beast out of me, my love." Sherlock smiled and pecked John's cheek, heart warming at the sight of those lips quirking. Even asleep, the doctor was positively responsive to any type of affection. That may be one of the top things on Sherlock's list. Of the all things he loved about the man.

They'd finished the Mulberry case no longer than a week ago and Sherlock had been running on two hours of sleep. Various trips to the morgue, his lab and crime scene had wrecked him. It wasn't until tonight, and a whole lot of begging on John's side, to have him finally fall into bed. And when he did, he was out like a light. He had all the time in the world to thank his lover but he was much too excited about it and he'd be bored having to wait five hours /alone/ before John awoke in the morning.

Seeing the doctor's cloudy blue eyes blink several times as he awoke with strands of his sandy, blonde hair sticking up at every angle would've been a sight, but he just couldn't wait that long.

Sherlock Holmes was an impatient man, after all.

The detective stopped, his face hovering an inch off of John's relaxed one. He really had to take time to admire the man's natural beauty. Whenever John slept, his age regressed about ten years and he fucking /glowed/. It wasn't as if Sherlock would say his boyfriend was unattractive otherwise because that just wasn't true; what he meant was that John was simply, irresistibly delectable when he allowed himself the time of day to relax. And the only time he had it was when he wasn't worrying over Sherlock's well-being or the rent or if every strand of hair was perfectly smoothed down (which Sherlock secretly loved no matter how many times he teased John for the amount of product he used).

His fingers glided down both of John's sides, lifting the sweater up high to reveal milky skin, unscarred save for the soldier's left shoulder. The mark making Sherlock's heart ache. He was torn between feeling exultation, for without the bullet that'd given him the scar, he would've never met John and pure anger for the man who had pulled the trigger and hurt his lover in the first place.

His mind ran in circles, racing faster each time they've gone a full lap. The only equation that Sherlock caught was D+A=O and seeing that it stood for his dick plus John's delicious arse equalled a nerve-wrecking orgasm, it hardly mattered. His instinct could've told him that.

Flushed at the thought of taking John slow and deep in his sleep, Sherlock sat up on his knees and positioned John flat on his back. The dear was gasping softly at the feather-light trail his boyfriend was moving down his front with his fingertips. Hardly able to take much more, Sherlock leant down and captured the blonde in a quick, devastatingly arousing one-sided kiss. He nipped at John's lips and was delighted at the way he didn't move or reciprocate. 

Now he sounded like a creep.

John made another soft noise, turning his head to one side so that Sherlock could bury his face into the crook of his neck. He took his time, sucking bruises into the creamy skin that was presented only for him. If Sherlock ever said he could be happier ensconcing himself in some experiment, John had every right to announce the detective's fear of spiders to the awaiting public. And make him sleep in the morgue.

It was the scrape of teeth over one of the doctor's perky nipples that caused John to stir lightly. The younger man pouted when John's eyes fluttered open and he looked every bit confused when he focused onto the detective. 

"Sher'lck... What are you doing?" He mumbled, rubbing an eyes with the heel of his hand. "Why's m' shirt rolled up s' high...?"

"Why don't you go back to sleep, sweetheart?" The detective suggested, flashing a charming smile down at his groggy lover. John blinked repeatedly, finally propping himself onto his elbows and gaping up at the other man. 

"You were going to fuck me in my sleep?" 

Sherlock froze, for once, at a loss for words. 

"I wasn't going to rush," he told him, offering an apologetic look that only seemed to make John fume. 

"NOT when I want to sleep," he stated, in a tone that warned Sherlock to never do anything of the sort again. 

The detective hung his head and buried his face into John's tummy, mumbling apologies into his chub, making the doctor blush. 

"But can we have sex anyway, now that you're awake?"

"Unbelievable."

"That's me."

"...prat."

Sherlock grinned and sneaked a kiss, catching John off guard and making him smile. 

"Just this once. I'm letting you off, just this once."

"Whatever you say, my love."


	2. Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sex

"Sherlock, no. Are you serious? I just woke up."

"But John, you promised we could have sex!"

The doctor currently sat atop his lover's waist, a look of exasperation on his face. 

"Why do I have to do all the work?"

"Who said you were going to?"

"I'm sat right above your cock, you twat. It's pretty self-explanatory."

"Your arse is on my bellybutton, John. And your childish quips are unappreciated."

John pouted and wriggled his hips, causing Sherlock to inhale sharply through his nose. 

"I demand that you stop squirming about if you are unwilling to undress," he started, glaring up at the blonde doctor, continuing to rock his hips slowly against Sherlock's front. "John."

The shorter man figured that if he worked his lover up enough, he'll flip over and fuck him through. Then he could fall back asleep and get all the hours of sleep he rightfully deserved before the man woke him up with his naughty intentions. 

Long, spidery fingers crawled up John's thighs and slid underneath his rumpled jumper, cooling John's hot skin, the man shivering. "I wonder if I can get you off with my fingers," Sherlock mumbled to  
himself. "You certainly enjoy them."

"Shut up, we've tried that once and it took forever."

"You cut our time because you had 'work' to go to."

"I couldn't come!"

"You just weren't that into it. It's clear that I'm not good enough for you if you couldn't even become desperate for my touch."

Now it was Sherlock's turn to pout.

"You know, your little fits are becoming less and less attractive the more you pull them," John stated, an unamused look on his face.

Sherlock threw back the ultimate bitch face and sulked against the pillows, his hands falling to his sides. 

A sigh escaped John's thin lips. He curled forward and rested his forearms on either side of his flatmate's head, kissing his cheek once and turning to brush their noses together. 

"I'm sorry," he smiled, deciding to look a little authentically apologetic. "We can do what you want, okay? Just, let's go slow?"

Sherlock blinked and reached up to curl his fingers around the back of his boyfriend's neck, tugging him down to capture his lips. "Anything, I just want to be inside of you." John coughed and blushed a little, nodding in response to Sherlock's blunt confession and removing his top, tossing it into a small pile on the floor by the bed and going for his sweatpants. Sherlock, interest piqued, watched as John knelt up over his body and slid out of his pants, feeling his eyes water at the almost unreal picture before him. His lover was beautiful, and if Sherlock had to constantly remind him vocally or physically every day just to keep it in his mind, he would. Sherlock vowed to prove to John that he was the most gorgeous, kind and beautiful person alive and Sherlock felt unworthy to have such a partner.

Silently, the detective slid his palms around to grope the soft, round globes of John's arse. Fleshy and full, Sherlock gave a firm squeeze and kneaded, smiling up at his sweetheart when John's breathing began to pick up a staccato beat. 

"Stop, you arse... quit groping and start - start fucking."

"Always were a pushy bottom..." Sherlock mused, happily.

John huffed and rubbed his growing hard-on against the bone of Sherlock's hip, gasping softly. "Your hands," he whispered, pleading for more than what he was being given. 

Sherlock squeezed, pinched and tugged John closer by his backside, thrusting up against his cock. "I'm touching you, lovely thing. Be specific. What shall I do with them?"

John whimpered.

Sherlock swallowed. It was so easy for John to lose himself in pleasure - it was almost too unrealistic. Sometimes he thought John was messing with him and faking his pleasure but the way he got hard and leaky and began to undulate beneath him with Sherlock's cock sinking into his tight hole couldn't have been anything but genuine. 

"Flip me. Fuck me with your fingers, stretch me out until I'm wide enough to take your huge cock and finish inside. I want your come filling me up and leaking down my thighs. I want to be so full I can't move!" 

Sherlock's hand scrambled to his side of the bed without removing his heated gaze from John's delirious one. Not on the bedside table. Fuck. FUCK! Where? Where is it? He shoved his hand down beneath the sheets and felt his knuckles bump a small, half-full bottle. Yes.

Taking hold of the bottle and popping the cap open with his thumb, the detective turned the lube over and squeezed the stuff out onto his palm, warming it between his fingers. God, he was going to fuck John absolutely stupid.

"You're eager."

"It's not my fault you make me randy," John smiled down, shifting up on his knees and leaning over Sherlock's chest to kiss his forehead.

"I can ask you to make tea and the next moment you're on me, begging me to take you, 'oh, Sherlock! Take me hard and fuck me fast, please, please!'" The detective imitated and snickered, proud of his playfulness. John blushed right up to his ears, swatting his lover's shoulder with a weak protest of 'I don't sound anything like that!'

Guiding his hand to John's deliciously, plump arse, Sherlock licked his lips as he traced the rim of his lover's tight opening, groaning softly at the small pucker. "Loosen up, dearest. I can't fit anything in there if you don't," Sherlock reminded hoarsely, his fingertip tapping at the hole lightly.

John mumbled something sardonically under his breath, another imprecation of his own creativity, Sherlock assumed. 

Slowly but surely, Sherlock pushed his finger in. The second knuckle allowing for the detective to slightly swivel his finger about and then push in further. He pulled out, pushed in, pumped out, shoved in, again and again until John's thighs began to tremble with his weight. He held the doctor's opposite hip and allowed for him to sit, pushing in another finger as he attacked his lover's neck. 

He goes on, ravishing John's skin with kisses and licks, suckles and bites, anything to keep his lover on the edge of immense pleasure, with no feelings of emptiness or torture. Because that would be very not good and all, and that would eventually lead to Sherlock sleeping on the sofa. Like a few months ago, with the fingering thing for hours. 

Bit not good. Will never repeat.

He was unstinting with time, paying close attention to every inch of John's sun-kissed skin, sucking a hickey just above his shoulder. "I adore your skin, John," he cooed. "So soft, but just here about your collarbone, it's pulled tight and I," kiss. "Cannot." Lick. "Stop." Bite. "Kissing."

"Ow! That was a gnaw, you git!"

"It was a bite, and shush. I'm being romantic."

"Well, stop! You're starting to scare me. And if I feel threatened, I won't be able to come and I can reserve that space on the sofa for you tonight, no problem!"

Sherlock laughed at that, a deep, hearty sound arising from the gut. John was the only one who could truly wring such authentic laughter from the detective. He pecked his lover's nose and shook, burying his face into the blonde's hair.

A light dusting of red coloured the ex-soldier's cheeks at the laughter. It came so rarely, but when it did, it was the most beautiful sound in the world. He felt the corners of his mouth tug upward and he twisted away from Sherlock's curls, which were beginning to scratch along his sensitive neck.

"Stop doing that, your curls are attacking me."

Sherlock raised a brow and smiled, leaning up a fraction to repeat the action and rest his forehead on the doctor's left shoulder. 

A unrestrained giggle escaped John's lips, causing Sherlock to laugh along. John was so cute when he graced the public with such unabashed laughter.

"Sherlock, can't you see how ridiculous we look?" He was overcome with the ticklish feeling at his ribs where Sherlock's fingers were found. "I'm sat on your hips with two of your fingers up my arse, and you're tickling me!"

"Stop complaining," Sherlock smiled, nipping the doctor's ear. "I love watching you enjoy yourself without restrictions. I want to do this for you all the time, make you smile." 

John didn't have a chance to tear up over that, or even consider what his lover had confessed before he was squirming and arching his back into those insistent fingers, running up and down his spine. "You... arse!" Another set of melodious giggles bubbled out of his chest.

Sherlock smiled so genuinely with John - eyes crinkling, slight dimples forming and the brightness of his teeth, the whole set. 

He began to move his violin-calloused fingers, pumping the two within John faster than he had previously and the action caught his doctor off guard, a gasp cutting off laughter. 

"Sher!"

"You know, I never liked that nickname. Try and stretch it out."

"Like I could help it! Ah - stop!"

"Whatever for?"

"Please!"

Those complicated eyes widened at the sight of John trembling above him with his eyes shut tightly. "John?"

"Sherlock, please. Now."

"Now?"

"No, tomorrow."

"What?"

"Yes, now!" John boomed, or attempted to. He slammed his fist on Sherlock's chest and tried to look authoritative, but ended up looking like a child throwing a tantrum to the detective, to which he bit his lip to stop a chuckle.

"Yes, dear."

And so began the ongoing process of Sherlock fucking John with his fingers, stopping every now and then to demand John change his form into a more straightened posture, get reprimanded for his concern and be rewarded with a John that just won't stop talking.

Repeat.

"And I thought it was a challenge to get ME to stop complaining," Sherlock uttered under his breath, twisting his fingers in a way that grazed his lover's prostate. The tiny gland he had been purposely avoiding for the past half hour. 

John let out a yelp, a sound that Sherlock was quick to coo over, causing the doctor to excoriate his unnecessary affection over normal things he did and at this rate, they'd never get to do the do. So, taking the initiative and surprising Sherlock as he always managed to do, John lifted up onto his knees and removed Sherlock's digits from his stretched hole. It'd been well over thirty minutes and he didn't want to feel too sore before he finally sank down onto his well-endowed boyfriend.

Then, snatching the bottle of lubricant from Sherlock's large hand, John poured into his palm and lathered Sherlock's erection generously. They don't have sex this way often, usually with John on his back or both of them against a wall. John ever so rarely did anything so physical on his part because of his leg, which was embarrassingly faulty. But sometimes, when the time was right, and Sherlock truly deserved a night of relaxation, and John was feeling exceptionally sexy (none of which applied to this situation), he did something like this.

"I'm going to ride you," John said softly, positioning himself over Sherlock's stomach, his hips lowering slowly. He held the detective's cock in one hand and pressed his empty hand flat against Sherlock's chest for support. Sherlock took his hand and intertwined their fingers, his chest expanding with an air of adoration at the sight before him. As sexy as it was, Sherlock couldn't help but find John extremely adorable like this. Struggling to get situated. 

Pushing into John was like the Hogwarts train fitting through their front door. Nearly impossible. John was tight, always have been and always will be. But every time Sherlock tried to praise the doctor's miraculous behind, he was given a blanket and pillow and sent out of their bedroom. It was a sure fire way to get kicked out of bed. 

"You feel good, sweetheart. So tight and hot, do you love this as much as I do?" Sherlock huffed, a permanent smile plastered stupidly on his face. It was like word diarrhoea when they had sex - it was half to taunt John and half complete praise. "Perfect, so perfect. I want to be buried within you for days and never come out. I want my cock to be permanently submerged into your arse and and pump you full of come. Watch it drip down your legs, then I'll lay on my stomach and push you onto yours so that I could eat you out, taste both of us while I'm cleaning you."

John breathed harshly at the filthy words escaping Sherlock's mouth like a waterfall and shook his head, sinking down fully until his arse met Sherlock's thighs. "Shut up, oh my god, shut the fuck up."

"You can't make me. You can't make me shut up if your life depended on it - unless I've got this in my mouth," Sherlock taunted and teased, tracing the underside of John's penis with his thumb. "You're huge. Bigger in girth. Quite a mouthful. That'd be the only way you could shut me up." John began to rock back and forth, his breathing laboured and heavy. He bit into his first knuckle and the sight of it nearly threw Sherlock off the edge. 

"And you're fucking oral fixation. Don't even get me started, you beautiful tart." Sherlock canted his hips upward, meeting an experimental drop of John's hips. They both moaned deeply. 

"I could stick anything in there. Fingers, candy, ice lollies, my cock..." He gasped and held both of John's hips, holding him still as he fucked up. "And you'd take it all, you dirty thing. My little minx. You'd take it all for me because you're such a good boy."

"Yes," John drew out in a moan, his head dropping back as he sat astride Sherlock's hips. "More, please. I'll take everything you want to give me, Sherlock please!"

"I know you will, sweetie," Sherlock replied contently, laying his shoulders against the pillows beneath him and patting John on the thighs. "Now ride me, set your pace and reach your climax without touching your cock. Want to be a good boy for me, John? That's how you'll do it."

The doctor whimpered and squealed, squirmed and shook but none of the discomfort could shake his arousal. It seemed to grow the more he was humiliated and scrutinised under Sherlock's grey eyes. The more he was scanned, the faster he went. Sherlock was so deep within him, it felt like he was close to spearing his guts, and he wouldn't complain. Not one bit. Sherlock could take him apart by hand, cut him open, rip out his organs, sell them, eat them, preserve his heart. He could do whatever he wanted, but as long as he continued to love John the way John loved him, nothing could stand in their way. It didn't matter how strong Sherlock could be or how intelligent. Without John, there was nothing. If John didn't want bullet holes in a person's head, there wouldn't be. If John didn't want dirty, bed sheets, there wouldn't be. If John didn't want to be married, he won't propose. If John didn't want children, he won't bring it up. If John wanted someone else, there'd be no questions asked.

John came in long ribbons of white, the sticky and almost translucent substance painting Sherlock's chest. He came and came, his legs and arms and lips trembling. Sherlock wanted to hold him. He wanted to kiss him better. It wasn't long, what with John's body tightening around him, that Sherlock finished. He filled the doctor up, John's eyes fluttering continuously until he was wrung dry. Sherlock smiled tiredly and positioned the doctor beside him, carefully sliding out of him and laying John's head on a pillow. He slid off the bed, legs wobbly after the orgasm and his own, pathetic thoughts. He returned with a warm, moist towel. Drying off John first was like second nature after their first time sleeping together. It all happened in a flash - Sherlock yelling at John and the doctor yelling right back. That's how it started. Then, the next morning, Sherlock was on his stomach on top of the man, a blush warming his cheeks. "Good  
Morning," they had greeted, awkwardly. And they laughed for years. And they'll laugh for years to come.

Sherlock thought about that as he slid into bed beside the man he loves most in this world. 

Then, he laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Next ch. for the sex


End file.
